


Ain't No Sunshine

by elwinglyre



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Season 05 ending fix, a bit of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-10-21 04:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinglyre/pseuds/elwinglyre
Summary: Brian visits Justin in NYC and finds that something is very wrong there. One plus years post 5:13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Chapter One by shopinchick

I stood watching over the floor. It wasn't Babylon, but it was-- _all I had to do was close my eyes_ \-- after all, nothing and everything stays the same: the flashes of light, the trickle of sweat, the heady thumpa thumpa. And the men.

  
Every shape, every size, cut and uncut, hot and not. All the same, yet not the same-- like me. Even as I grabbed a hot prospect and led the simmering lips into the dark by his Hsemu t-shirt, I knew it wouldn't be enough. It never was anymore because I'm not the same. Night is the hardest.  During the day, I can file memories away with each new ad campaign or client. At night, all I have is time. Lately I've worked later and later, even weekends, to get that laugh and smile out of my head. And when I couldn't stop it, I'd come here to drown it out. 

But tonight, even a visit to The Tool Shed couldn't stop me from seeing his face. So I don't fight it. Tonight, I pretend.

Pretend.

_Silky hair, pouty lips. One, two, three, then close your eyes and cum._

Damn, the guy looked familiar. 

Yeah, pretend. 

My only reprieve came during two visits-- that and late-night calls with that sweet-hot voice.

Nothing like beating off Justin's hot musings. Yeah, I came. Over and over. The downer was that the post-orgasmic bliss was always tainted with a when-you-are-coming-to-see-me as Justin's parting words when I'd rather hear him panting and pounding. 

I should feel like a shit. Over the last year, it's been Justin doing the reaching out. He came back. Twice: once to see his mom, which coincidentally was my birthday, and once for Molly's sweet sixteen party. He's the one who usually calls too. That little shit could make a killing on phone sex. 

"First I'm going to watch you suck up and down on my twink dick, then I'm going do it to you-- lick your big dick up and down until you're rock hard-- and when you're close to coming, that's when I'm going to snake my tongue up your crack and slide it so far up your ass, you're going to shoot clear across the room--" 

" _Shit_."  I swore, shooting just like Justin told me I would. "Are we coming?" 

"God, yes." I heard Justin's voice squeak.

But then the closing words were deep and low "...by the way, _Brian_." 

Justin was going to ask the usual. 

"Hmm?"

"I'm part of a show."

"Yeah, you're right about that, and a _good_ show. You could make millions."

"No," Justin laughed. "I have four pieces in an exhibit featured at the Whitney Museum. The opening is next Friday night. Why not come up to see it, and we can make a weekend of it? I can talk dirty to you in person, then illustrate it. I want you to _come_." 

"Articulation _and_ ejaculation. My, my, you're _so_ multitalented."

"That's me, a real Renaissance man." 

After that, we each said goodbye. Justin whispered, "I love you."

  
The old Brian would have made fun of him, but the new Brian didn't do that. The new Brian said it back. Still, part of the old Brian hung on since I hung up without giving him an answer. What bothered me was that Justin didn't press for one. 

Since that call, I couldn't let it go, and I don't mean my dick. Something wasn't right. I knew Sunshine better than he knew himself. Sure, he missed me. I missed him. Missed pounding him into the mattress and hearing him beg for cock, missed his smile along with his morning wood. But there was something else going on with him that he wasn't sharing. I wondered about it as I rolled out of bed, and I thought about it between sips of my Starbucks as I drove to work. And I thought  about it in the baths and that night in the dark backroom, leaning against the wall while strange fingers fumbled to open my fly. Even as my back cooled against the concrete blocks and my front warmed up with a pair of nimble lips, I had Sunshine on my mind. For a few moments I forgot as my cock jumped and twitched out of my Armani's. I massaged my balls and groaned, letting my other hand linger in the anonymous fuck's hair. It didn't feel right.

  
Then I remembered, but I still let that anxious mouth get me off. 

I zipped up my pants, then rested the back of my head against the wall and watched him wipe my cum off his lips with a wicked grin before moving on to the next cock. Time to go back to the loft. I walked out with the music thump, thump, thumping behind me. 

I fingered my cell phone and my car keys in my pocket. _Shit_. I  _could_ be in New York this time tomorrow. 

All these months I told myself that I didn't care if he called or not. Problem was, deep inside,

I _did_ care because as long as Justin kept calling that meant he still wanted me, wanted us. 

I didn't check my cell phone until I got to the car. 

No messages. 

\-------------------

I didn't tell anyone, especially Michael, because saying anything to Mikey would make it certain that every queer on Liberty Avenue would know along with half of New York City, and I didn't want Justin to know because there was a part of me that knew I might change my mind. 

Seeing him again and saying goodbye fucking hurt. It tore the flesh off my bones each time. I knew that going to see him might be only slapping a band aid on a hemorrhage.

It started raining when as I stepped out the on to the street, and by the time I got to my Vette, the sky had opened up into a monsoon. _Yep, another fucking-fantastic day._  I threw my bag into the trunk, then got in where it was dry. 

I laughed when I tuned the radio to WRRK: Bill Withers' soulful voice. It was true.

_Ain't no sunshine when he's gone._

I took I-80 and spent most of the drive trying to decide. It kept raining, which went along with my mood. Fuck it, I could still turn around, but by Bloomsburg, I was committed. I was already coming unannounced--  he didn't have to know that I was there-- I could practice my voyeuristic perversions. Watch. See. Maybe there _was_ someone else to see. Maybe he'd finally grown out of me. It was bound to happen. People change. Fuck, I already knew Justin _had_ changed, _had_ grown. He was his own man.

Our late-night conversations were filled with sex _and_ sophistication. He was a confident artist. Gifted. Beautiful.

  
And that wasn't just my opinion. Googling his name, I came up with a bio of  _Justin Taylor: The Artist and His Work_ with a steaming-hot cutout of him on his hands and knees, crawling across the web page-- sex was what he was. Jesus, seemed like yesterday that he was an innocent virgin who didn't know a rim from a hand job. And now? He had over 84,000 hits on his site. That was almost as many times as he was hit on at Babylon.

 -------------------

I spotted Justin right away, sitting on a bench with his legs crossed in deep conversation with geeky-looking guy with spiky-black hair. He sat across from Justin with a spiral notepad and handheld tape recorder. Ahhh, young Andy Warhol was being interviewed. So I did the only thing I could do. I hid. Damn easy to do too: There were so many large, pretentious-looking sculptures. I hid behind the monster penis-envy exhibit. Seemed appropriate, since it was an excellent anatomical likeness of me-- that and it was strategically placed behind Justin. 

I circled around, staying out of his line of sight and found my way behind penis erectus. I leaned against Rammstein to catch the end of the interview.

"...I never thought of myself as an emotional artist," Justin said. "But yes, I guess my art is an extension of myself."

I found the name at the base of the penal piece: _Ben Dover._ Well, if you're going to get fucked, you might as well get fucked big.  

The reporter flipped a page in his notepad. "I've always had the feeling when looking at your work that you aren't separate from your art. I wonder, does it have any idiosyncrasies like you? Does it define you as a person or is it the other way around?"

I heard Justin's fidgeting around.  

"For a long time after I got bashed, my work was angry. I wouldn't say it defined me; it was cathartic. There's a part of me that I don't want to show anyone, and in my work, I can come clean. You could say it's reflective of my personality in the respect that it was a way for me to deal with pain. That's how it's an extension of me. As for idiosyncrasies, everything I look at is shape and motion. It's indelible. You can see the way I use motion in each of these pieces. Friends always see me and themselves in my work."

"Any other idiosyncrasies?"

"Other than being totally obsessive?!" 

"Obsessive how?"

"God, I'm terrible. Once I get something in my head, it's like I can't let go. When I'm working on a piece, I've got tunnel vision. I don't eat or sleep until I get the images out of my head."

"So, you _have_ to work. What about play? I think this piece here is very playful. What's the story behind this piece? What prompted it?"

"Sex." Justin laughed. "Seriously, it was sex."

"I kind of thought that."

"What? The phallic imagery give it away?" I heard Justin shifting his feet. "Or maybe the name: _Jocular Intercourse_. It's based on a long-standing relationship I've been in." 

"Interesting-- well, it was great speaking with you, thanks."

"My pleasure. Anytime."

"I'll let you know when the story will go in."

"Thanks."

I heard the reporter walk away, and I listened for Justin to walk off. I stood there for a few minutes, leaning against the eight foot penis. 

"I wish they hadn't put me next to this monstrosity," Justin said. "It makes me feel inadequate."

"It'd make King Kong feel inadequate," I answered, running my hand up the large shaft. I imagined Justin rubbing it on the other side.

"So, how long you been behind the dick?" he asked me.

"Since I was 13."

Justin laughed again. I smiled just hearing him. "No, I mean, today."

"A few minutes."

"Were you going to leave without saying anything to me?"

"I thought about it, but changed my mind. I didn't want leave without seeing Jocular Intercourse."

"I was hoping you were going to say you didn't want to leave without _having_ intercourse." 

"You're right," I said, stepping from around the exhibit, "I didn't want to leave without having experienced both."

I stepped up to him, looking him up and down. This close he looked gorgeous with his hands thrust in his pockets and a silly grin on his face. How could I have thought there was something wrong? Everything was normal: He was definitely hard for me, and I had this urge to fall to my knees and suck him off right there. He took a step closer, and instead of me dropping to the floor, our mouths mashed together. I've always had this oral fixation, but I'd never gotten into kissing until I met him. He got me addicted-- must have been those angel lips and devil tongue of his. 

"Come on--" he said, pulling my coat sleeve. "I'll show you around."

"Never need to ask me twice to come."

"Or to come twice." 

I leaned in, mouth touching his ear and whispered, "Or make you come twice as hard." I loved it when he shivered against me. "So, this must be _Jocular Intercourse_. I think I recognize the main subject."

"Hmm, you _think_ so. Art imitates life."

"I thought it was the other way around."  We walked to a large piece that covered the wall. _Fuck_. It was amazing. I didn't know what to say-- I just stood there staring at it while Justin waited for me to say something. No mistaking the subject matter: it was the inside of the diner. "I guess you are a genius" was all I could say. 

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you-- and this," I said, copping a covert feel.

"I think we need to get out of here."


	2. Chapter 2

I dropped my bag at the door.

Justin's apartment was a real shit hole. Rats lived in cleaner places. 

I knew I should have gotten a room. At the Trump International. Or nice five star hotel. Even a four star. A motel would have been better than this. When Justin flipped on the light switch, I could have sworn I saw roaches scurrying for cover. Justin blue eyes dared me to say something. Anything. For once, I kept my mouth shut. Instead I slammed him into the wall, devoured his mouth, ignored the state of the room and concentrated on his wicked little tongue flicking against the roof of my mouth. Talking is highly over-rated. We stumbled across the living area into his bedroom, the whole while groping and kissing like horny teens. I was so hot for him that I didn't give a shit where we fucked-- at least his bed looked semi-sanitary. 

For a flea motel. 

The upside was his roommate was away for the weekend. The downside was her cat wasn't. I hate Siamese cats. Their yowl is like fingernails down a chalkboard, and they scratch like cross-dressing hookers. And the thing was all sprawled out on his _bed_. Like it owned the place. The cat opened one eye, then the other. Justin scratched the thing behind the ear. I wondered if he had any hand sanitizer in this place. Or soap. Or water. 

"Her name's Pyewacket--" Justin said, sitting down next to it. "You know, from the movie _Bell, Book and Candle_?"

The fucking thing stood up, stretched, looked me in the eyes, then hissed. At _me_. "Ah, yes," I said. "I've seen the movie. Isn't the cat possessed by the devil?"

"No, it's a familiar. This cat is nothing like that although she does have a spark of evil in her. She pisses in Jill's shoes when she leaves her alone during the day."

Jill. The roommate. Another aspiring, starving actress in NYC with a fixation on gay men and old black and white films starring Kim Novak or Marilyn Monroe. Justin should introduce her to Emmett.

The cat hissed again. I gave her my eat-me look, and the cat froze, then ran under the bed to hide. 

"So," Justin whispered, then licked my ear, "are you going to put me under your spell too?" 

"Thought you already were." I made a production out of unbuttoning his shirt. One. Button. At. A. Time.

"Ah, yes, the Kinney charm. Curse or cure?" He licked my lips. "Now do the voodoo that you do so well."

I took his shirt off half way, letting it trap his wrists behind him and pushed him flat on his back. I let my hand float over the soft skin on his shoulders as I kissed his chest and nibbled on his nipples. "My hot little captive." I saved his lips for last.  

I shucked off my $900 John Lobb shoes. 

"She won't piss in my shoes, will she?"

Justin shook his head. "Nah, the cat has to _like_ you to do that."

I pushed the palm of my hand hard in to his cock just to watch his back arc up into it. I rolled on top of him and ground our cocks together. God, he was beautiful under me: lips wet and red from my mouth, pupils wide and dark.  He bucked into me and moaned my name as I unzipped his pants. 

I seriously wanted to take my time with him. I pulled a packet of lube and some condoms out of my pocket and set them on the pillow next to Justin's head. 

"Turn over." The corners of his mouth turned up a little and his eyes got wider. His hands were still trapped behind him, so I helped him over, then took his shirt off the rest of the way. I straddled his legs and let myself look at him. _Fuck, I've missed him._

It was my fucking turn to moan. 

"You want my ass. You _so_ want my ass." 

I grinned to myself. _When do I not want his ass?_ I shimmied his pants over his hips and down those firm thighs while I admired the view. A classic work of art, that's what he was. Michelangelo's David had nothing on him. 

I added his pants to the pile of dirty clothes in the corner. 

"You want to _lick_ my ass. You want to _kiss_ my ass. You want to _bite_ my ass. You want to _stick_ your tongue up my ass."

I unfastened my jeans and threw them next to Justin's and hoped I wouldn't have to fumigate them later.

"You forgot one," I added. "You want to _spank_ my ass."

I smacked his left cheek good. Then again with a whack. He squealed like a girl, then giggled. 

I gave the other cheek a matching set. He kicked and squirmed while I did it, but he didn't really want to get away. 

He never did. 

"Oh, _kiss_ my ass," he groaned and ground himself into the mattress. "You _so_ love my bubble butt."

I leaned over and put my mouth right next to his ear. "You're  right, Sunshine. I do." Then I slid down his back again, kissing his dimples, then the bright red hand prints, tracing the outline of each with my tongue and slowly, slowly spreading his ass cheeks. I propped myself up on my elbows to for the spectacular view while he whimpered in disappointment that my tongue had left him. I soothed his back with my hands, then kissed my favorite part of his ass. He got all breathless and blotchy as I alternated tonguing his pucker and blowing on it. I really knew he was turned on when he started to hiccup between moans of "Please, Brian, please."

I could never get enough of looking and hearing him. Never. Especially when he teased me by wiggling that perfect ass to get my tongue deeper inside. I played with his hole, flicking my tongue and skewering him with it. He was getting desperate, trying to reach underneath him for his dick; I pulled his hands out each time. Finally, I reached for the lube, squirting some on my fingers. He writhed and begged for me to fuck him and fuck him now, but I toyed with him a while longer, sticking my tongue inside him along with two of my fingers, opening him up good so could take my big dick. After all, it'd been awhile.

"Turn over," I said at last. He rolled over fast for me, our eyes locked. I liked him best that way. I loved pounding him with his legs over my shoulders and watching those blue eyes turn black as he came. I slid in slow and steady. He licked his kiss-swollen lips and thrust his hips into me in shaky, desperate jerks. I rocked into him, leaning forward and into that sweet spot of his. I moved over it, again and again. I felt the heat rising from my balls as Justin clenched his ass muscles. It wouldn't be much longer for me. He kept his hands off his dick and knotted in the sheets, his eyes on mine. Then he said, "Brian..." Shit, he was going to come. He clamped down tight on my entire length that was buried to the balls inside him. I watched as ribbon of come shot on his chest. I was gone. 

I pulled us apart only long enough to toss the condom in the wastebasket, then I hugged him close to me, letting my fingers slip through his shiny hair. I let Justin sleep. Now that the edge was off with the preliminary fuck, I looked at the place closer. It was worse than I first realized. The windows had a grime on the outside that can only come from years of neglect. Inside, peeling layers of paint revealed decades of color trends from olive green to orange to black, most likely lead-base paint. The ceiling was water stained and buckled from bad plumbing. The floor's saving grace was that it was hardwood not carpet, but it didn't look like it seen a coat of varnish since the 1950s.

I closed my eyes. _Fuck it._ There was something better here that needed my attention. Warm feet, smooth back with fine soft hairs and a neck with a dip in it for nibbling. I nestled closer. 

What a mess.

"I'm a mess," he mumbled. 

Sometimes I could swear he could read my mind. I ruffled his hair. "Yes, but you're my mess."

"Why, Brian! That's actually sweet."

Sweet. I don't do sweet. I sat up. "I've got to piss. Is there a bathroom in this..." _Now, Brian, be nice_."...place?" 

"Yeah, down the hall to the left."

I tread carefully into the bathroom, lifted the toilet lid. At least it was clean. Then I noticed. 

"You don't have a shower," I yelled out. 

I walked back down the hall and into the bedroom. Justin was sprawled out petting the cat. 

"That's it," I said. I'd kept my mouth long enough. "I can't let you live like this."

"Oh yes you can. Every artist needs to suffer for their art."

"Well _I'm_ not an artist." I crossed my arms and frowned. 

"Bri, you can be such a queen."

"What do I do to get clean?"

"I could lick you all over," he said, as he rolled suggestively on the bed.

"While that has a certain appeal, there are times when a man needs deeper cleansing."

"Like this?" Justin flicked his tongue at me and waggled his eyebrows. 

I laughed. 

"Or you could take a bath. Didn't you see that big claw-foot tub?" he asked as he sat up, legs crossed on the bed. His face glowed, and he smiled like he does when he has one of those twinky-blond light-bulb-above-the-head ideas. "I bet _two_ could fit in the tub!"

I had my doubts. I continued to frown, hoping I'd get through to him. This place was unacceptable. I should have known that it wouldn't work. Justin bit his lip, then did what he usually did when I picked on him with my Brian Kinney-knows-best attitude. 

Changed the subject.

"I'm hungry, let's go out and get something to eat."

I hated it when he did that-- got all happy and bouncy. Ok, I didn't really hate it. I liked it. I missed his impersonation of a fucking blond bunny rabbit. 

"Aren't you all cuddly-wuddly?" I said sarcastically. "Next thing you're going to go hip hopping down the bunny trail." 

He clamored off the bed and into my arms. 

"Come on, Bri," he said. "There's a great cafe around the corner that serves these wonderful artery-clogging delicacies. You can watch me cream my pants while I eat it."

"How can I refuse. You make it sound sooo irresistible."

"No, it's me who's irresistible." He gave me one of those 500 watt smiles and kissed my cheek. "I'll get cleaned up, and you get dressed. Then we can go eat, come back and fuck for the rest of the night."

I knew he was a genius.

Sunshine disappeared down the hall, and I went out to get my bag, then changed. I could hear the water running in the tub and wondered if there _was_ room in there for two. 

While he was bathing, I walked around the apartment, checking out Justin's work. He had sketches taped to the walls and paintings propped against every surface. _My, my. My little Picasso had been very busy._ At least the place had lots of light and room where he worked. An artsy-fartsy screensaver ran on his computer. I jiggled the mouse. Although it was only a rough draft, I could see that this piece was something special, something different. My Sunshine was taking chances. A mass of leading lines of diametric colors. I wondered what the scale would be. 

I noticed that, along with his art program, he had his e-mail open. The bathwater wasn't running anymore, but I could hear splashing. Ok, so I'm nosey: I eavesdrop behind giant penises, follow friends on clandestine meetings, stalk fiddle-playing boyfriends. I clicked on the damn e-mail. I read it. Then I sat down. I read it again. It was short. It was sweet. It was intimate.

_Too intimate._

It wasn't like we'd made promises. I'd let more than a few tricks suck my dick over the last year. But I never fucked one, never took one back to the loft. Not once. I'd kept the rings. I'd kept the country manor. 

I heard water going down the drain. I got up. I didn't have to read it again--it was burned in my mind: "I hoped you liked my gift. I picked out something special that we could share. Can't wait to see you on your knees. Wink, wink. Until then, luverboy316."

I walked to the other side of the room and put on my best blank face. All Justin had to do was walk into the room and look at me to know something was up--I saw his eyebrow lift, questioning. But he didn't say a word. I figured I could come clean, tell him I read the e-mail, or I could do the typical Brian Kinney way--find out who luverboy316 is, find his weakness and annihilate him.


	3. Chapter 3

When I looked into those endless blue eyes, I saw confusion, sincerity, fear and a butt-load of desire. I was tempted to throw Mr. Taylor's butt-load onto those 320 thread-count sheets and do the nasty with him. I was always up for his butt--it was the pinch of fear that kept me from pushing him down on all fours for the blue light special. I needed to know where that fear was fucking coming from, and although sex loosens Sunshine's tongue in some ways, in others it inhibits them. "Fuck me harder" weren't exactly the words I was looking for at that moment. Besides, these things must be done delicately, like removing ruby slippers.

I needed to know how this luverboy316 was fucking with Justin or if he was fucking Justin or if this was just one fucking joke. I was pretty sure from Justin's posturing and the innocent look in his eyes that if he had fucked luverboy that it was just a fuck (and what moron chooses an email address with a number attached? 316? So there are 315 better luverboy fuck wads in the world?). 

That's why I didn't say a thing outright about luverboy. I didn't have to. He looked at the computer and bit his lip. 

"You read it," he blurted out.

I nodded slowly. "And what is this all about, Sunshine?"

I saw his eyes flash to the bedroom. 

Now what was in there?

He chewed his lip. 

Guilty. 

"God, Brian," he said, taking a step closer to me. "What do you want me to say. If you're asking, have I fucked this guy? No, not unless..." 

"Unless?"

"Unless this is someone I was with before. I've kept to myself here."

I kept quiet--I've always found that was one of the best ways to get Justin talking.

"I'll to handle this myself," he blurted out. I nodded slowly. He was right; he was good at handling things like pencils, paintbrushes, dicks, dildos. "It's nothing I'm sure. And if it's some stalker or something, I'm not some kid anymore," he added. 

I decided to bait him. One, because he can't just let it drop, and two, because it makes me hot to see him flustered. 

"You know it's hard to take you seriously when you say that you're all grown up but your bottom lip is quivering like Gus'."

It worked; he got really pissed off. His eye started to twitch. 

"I know what you're doing, and it's not working, Brian." He was older and wiser. Justin did have a point--he wasn't the same, and I liked that. I kept telling him that not looking his age was a blessing. He was a heady juxtaposition of a 60 Minutes mind in a Romper Room body—my own personal romper room that I'd missed like hell. He still looked illegal, standing there all stubborn and childlike-- that was part of his charm. 

"Like I said, Brian, I don't know what it's all about. It's just creepy."

I arched my eye brow higher when he said "creepy," then he shook his head at me. He tried to look tough standing there in his just-off-the-floor-and-rumpled-from-being-fucked pants. He looked way too hot for his own good.

"Let's go," he pleaded. "I'm hungry." He gave me those sad, starved eyes that worked on me eight times out of ten, but he blew it by adding, "Besides, I could use the exercise."

I laughed. Since when did he ever exercise? "What? I didn't tire you out enough? We can do some more pushups. Or you could do some deep knee bends—you know how I love you on your knees. Then there's sissy squats." 

"Ha, ha, Brian," he said as he turned toward the door, grabbing my arm. "This is ridiculous."

"You said dick."

"You're so juvenile."

"You know it, and you're so pathetic."

"I'd rather be a sappy, pathetic twink than forever locked into the role of a comic book superhero, waiting to swoop in and save the world," he said, turning to face me. "Like you're Rage or something. Face it, Brian, I'm not JT, and I'm not going to cry, oh, help! Help! Save me from the bad man! I can't save my widdle self!"

I laughed. At first. "Bad man?" I asked. "There's more isn't there than some emails. What else has happened?" 

No more sunny laughs and smiles, instead he turned off the light in face. Fuck, I knew it. Luverboy was no lover boy. His eyes flicked over to the bedroom again. Over the years, there had been times when that most beguiling face had hidden things from me, but they were always things I didn't really want to know anyway. Not this time though—I needed to know what Sonny Boy was trying to hide. 

I stepped in front of him, willing him to tell me, and when that didn't work, I pushed him into the wall and pressed my thumb on those hot lips, rested my index finger on the side of that cute button nose and planted my middle finger on his sexy forehead.

"Brian, you're scaring me," he laughed again, playing along. "What are you doing?"

"The Vulcan Mind Meld," I explained. I guess JT was right, or maybe it was just that I'd gone to Comic-Con one too many times with Mikey. "Our minds are one. My thoughts, your thoughts..."  

"You dick!"

I pressed more than my fingers into him—and where'd he get these pants? I had to shop in New York. 

"Yes, my dick and your dick, too." I thrust myself hard against his thigh. I could tell he liked it the Vulcan way: hot and rough--so I shoved my other hand down his pants and prepared to introduce him to a carnal kind of the Vulcan death grip. 

"Alright, I'll play your game," he whispered. 

It occurred to me that my powers of persuasion might be backfiring, or at least, getting away from me.

"It's not a game," I groaned. He pretended to push me away by rocking his cock into mine. Naughty, naughty."If there's something wrong, you can tell me. I won't over-react."

"Nothing I can't handle myself," he snorted, cupping my crotch and squeezing. 

I was my turn to snort. If Justin needed to "handle" more than my cock, 316 was a whack job. No one fucked with mine without the Kinney crush/kill/destroy mode kicking into hyper-drive. Who was 316? A one night stand turned obsessive? A deranged groupie? A besotted art critic?

Did I just say I wouldn't over-react? Yeah, right.

I wasn't going to agree to Sunshine's terms; therefore, I had to sacrifice myself. It was hard to do, but I was more than willing. I still had him in my Vulcan grip, and the bed wasn't far--you could say I was making headway melding both heads. 

When we were done, I had fucked him through that lumpy mattress. And on the dirty floor. And against the wall. That was the cleanest surface. What the hell, I didn't care at that point, I just wanted inside his ass.

God, I missed him.

We finished back in bed. Nothing like coming full circle.

"I've missed you," he said, rubbing against me like he was marking his territory. 

Shit, I'd created a sexual monster. "I think your libido increased in three-fold since the last time we spent time like this." 

He pushed me onto my back. "I think your memory is going in your old age." 

"Smart ass."

"You love it. And I love you and your smart ass too. In fact, I want inside it," he said. 

I put the condom on him myself, then slicked him up good. 

"Take it slow, Sunshine, my ass is practically a virgin."

He laughed. "Yeah, my personal virgin megastore." 

I rolled over and held my breath while he took his sweet time sticking his seven inches into me. I yammered incoherently into Justin's pillow as he thrust into me, massaging my prostrate with every stroke. I was a great teacher, and he was the consummate attentive student. If there was a sexual SAT score, he would have better than a 1500. I used to tell myself that I let him fuck me because it gave Justin the illusion of control. I don't bother telling myself that anymore. It took me over a year without him to admit to myself that I love his dick in me because I can let go of the illusion.  

And I let go all over his Crane quilt, which was a shame because it was the only accessory in the entire room that was superior quality. He pulled out and tossed the condom into the trash next to the bed. Our collection was growing. 

"Stop digging around in the trash and come here." He smiled and rested his head on my arm, and I threw my leg over his. We both dozed off for a few minutes, but it wasn't long before Justin complained again about being hungry. Some things never change. I knew we reeked of sex, but there was no way I was climbing into that tub. 

We got dressed and were just about out the door when he did it. 

He looked.

Again.

Toward the bedroom.

"What's in there?" I asked, brushing past him. He was right behind me every step, blabbing about how I never respect his space, and how I always had to stick my nose in things, and why couldn't I just drop it. The old Brian Kinney would have dropped it only to come back later to find out what was really up. Unfortunately, I didn't have the time or opportunity to do that here.

I scanned the room, watching Justin watch me. It was like playing a game of hot and cold with our eyes—I look at the desk, and he'd blink. I was freezing cold. I'd look at the chair, and he'd look away a little bit. I was warmer. I'd look at the bed, warmer yet, and when I looked at the wastebasket, he jerked his head trying to look away. Yep, I was burning hot! He scrambled for the trash the same time I did. Part of me felt bad for doing this and knew I should let it drop, but another part of me remembered baseball bats and ambulances and emergency rooms. Then there was the fiddle player. Either way, I wasn't letting Sunshine slip past me. He saw it. I saw it. I couldn't help myself. I pulled it out of the wastebasket. 

"How adorable," I said, whirling it on my finger. "A butt plug! And it's all tied up with a tiny red bow! And look it has one of our condoms and cum on it for accent!" I reached into the wastebasket farther--Justin pushed me; I stumbled, and the basket spilled out across the floor. 

"And what's this?" I said. Justin jumped too late as I snatched an envelope off the floor. "A love letter?" I had the card in my hand and spun around with Justin's hand flailing around me trying to snatch it away. 

"Stop it now, Brian! It's nothing..." He crossed his arms and squinted his eyes at me, trying hard to look tough. Shit, like Pinocchio could ever look tough. Hot maybe. Some things should grow when lying... in my bed... 

I opened the card and read it, then stopped. 

**I see you**

"It's nothing," he repeated weakly and licked his lips. "Can't we talk about this later?" 

"No," I said, but I sighed and changed my mind the moment I noticed his hand shaking. "When we walk to that deli, you tell me what this is all about." 

Justin uncrossed his arms. 

"We're in this together," I said. "Come on."

Justin reluctantly followed. 

I knew he'd see it my way.


	4. Chapter 4

It was hard to admit to myself how much I missed him. I missed moments like this most all--I let the subject drop on our walk to the deli. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and let his blond hair tickle my neck. I liked it longer, and I liked him close. Despite how lesbeonic is sounded, I missed the way he teased me, pleased me, and yeah, squeezed me. Especially my dick. Nothing lesbeonic about that part. Most of all, I missed his fucking sunshine smile, so much that I hardly noticed the hot man who bumped into us. Hardly. He was really hot after all.  
  
The shadows grew long as we walked. We didn't talk, and he avoided my gaze. A quiet Justin is a worried Justin--I guess he'd learned too much from me as far avoidance. I was relieved to know he never learned how to completely close himself off--shut out feeling, go cold inside. He tried to learn it, but he never could make his face go blank. I was glad about that although I would never admit it to anyone. Being true to his sunshine self, one big sigh from him told me that he was resigned to fact that he was going to spill it all regarding luverboy. I grudgingly admitted to myself how happy I was that this luverboy was no real luverboy, but I was terrified that some freak might be out there after Sunshine.  
  
As he walked, he studied his beat-up Converses he'd colored on with permanent markers like they were the most fascinating work since the Sistine Chapel. Another big sigh from him, and I pulled him closer and kissed his forehead--I felt him melt into me, and he smiled that smile I knew so well. I told myself, you can do this. You needed to do this. We both need to do this. He me gave a knowing nod, as we walked down the sidewalk in step, ignoring a disgusted look or two from those who passed us by. I kept his face snug against my neck. We fit together, always did.  
  
Justin stopped. "Here it is. My favorite place," he said, pointing to the shop in front of us.  
  
I looked up at the sign and thought, you've got to be kidding. "Dixon's: The Delightfull Deli," I read aloud. I'd never seen anything as garish as the front of the building and its blood-red and purple sign that jutted out above the window.  
  
"I know," he said. "It's bad. The overly ornate font clashes with the colors and juxtaposed with the bad pun in the name, the overall effect is amateurish. My guess is that the owner's granddaughter came up with the design, and the grandparents think it's brilliant."  
  
"I've lost my appetite."  
  
Justin laughed. "What appetite?"  
  
I licked my lips and looked him up and down. "Well, maybe not."  
  
Justin punched me in the arm. "Ouch!"  
  
"I saw that leer at the hot brunette on Baker Street." We both looked up at the sign again-- it was like looking at a fucking road-side accident-- you couldn't take your eyes off the horror of it.  
  
"I have it," he said, throwing his arms in front of me to illustrate. "White sign, Dick-some Deli in black, bold, block font. Left justified, of course."  
  
"Of course," I smiled and added, "Everything goes better with some dick."  
  
Justin laughed and licked his plump lips. "Of course!"   
  
"And on the right corner a large, yellow sun bleeds off the corner. Under the name: Where Sunshine eats. Same font, small caps. Eating dick is implied of course."  
  
"Of course."  
  
I couldn't take my eyes off those lips, and I thought about where they'd been just minutes before. What an arousing conversation. I gave Justin a sly look as I adjusted myself. "Maybe we should forgo lunch here and get a nice, clean hotel room and partake something more palatable?"  
  
He crossed his arms but smiled brightly at me, then stuck out his tongue at me and opened the door.  
  
"We're staying at my place and that's final. Besides, I need something with more sustenance," he shot back at me. His eyes soften and he smiled. "Besides, you can give the owner some ideas for his sorry store front."  
  
"I have ideas, but they don't involve a store front."  
  
"Promises, promises. I'll make sure you keep each one of them later," he winked at me over his shoulder. "And shouldn't that sign read some dick? You know, to go with the slogan? Dick some, eats some dick?"  
  
The bell on the door jingled as we stepped inside. He stood in front of me, his back-side always a nice view, and I made sure that I "accidentally" rubbed against it.  
  
At first glance, the place was like any old deli on just any old street. Shiny black and white tiled floors, limited seating, the walls laminated with tacky faux-marble, but the wrought iron tables and chairs were obviously high-end, mostly likely custom-made and each was draped with fine-linen tablecloths. All the tables were perfectly aligned against the inside wall.  
  
As we inched along in line, Justin tapped his fingers on the wall, then cooler, then counter. It was quite a wait with Justin tapping all over every flat surface-- the place was backed up with takeout orders since few customers stuck around to eat. Must be the ambiance, I smirked. The steady jingle of the door, brought in more customers behind us. A popular place. I hoped the wait was worth it, and I had to admit that the aromas in the place made my stomach rumble. Each item under the glass case looked like eight extra hours in the gym. On second inspection, the place reminded me of the diner. Neat and clean with a few regulars milling around, talking to the help behind the counter. Justin smiled at me as he pointed to some of the soups.  
  
The bell rang again and the hot brunette walked in, then just like that Justin's smile turned off.  
  
"The muffeletta--with extra salami and cream cheese," Justin said stiffly, grabbing two bags of chips off the rack. "And two--no make that three chocolate-pecan cookies."  
  
His attitude obviously hadn't affected his appetite. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Extra salami and cream cheese. All that fat. Like he needed sodium on top of all that artery-clogging fat! He'd need breath mints, too.  
  
"The cucumber and watercress wrap, no cream cheese," I said.  
  
"That's all you're getting, Brian?" Justin asked. "Come on, live a little. At least try the soup. The creamy, baby Portobello mushroom is sinful."  
  
He nagged me--and since it was the healthiest sounding soup on the menu, I ordered it.  
  
And carried the drinks.  
  
Normally I won't sit down to eat in a place like this, but the alternative was Justin's place. I let Justin choose a quiet spot in the back.  
  
I have a healthy fascination with his mouth, and I watched as he tore open the bag of salt and vinegar chips with his teeth, pulled out a chip, then licked each finger clean with his clever tongue, then pulled out each finger with a pop of his lips.  
  
"So," he said as he raised an eye bow at me. I smirked back--who gives a fuck is I was indiscreetly adjusting my aching cock under the table? It was his fault for licking his fingers. "What juncture in the interview made you decide not to bolt? Or was it that you were standing behind Penis Envy?"  
  
"You obviously don't know me as well as you think, Sunshine--I've never envied anyone else's penis," I smiled as Justin rolled his eyes. "I've admired yours on plenty of occasions though--besides, I thought the name of the piece was Ben Dover."  
  
"Yes, that's the real name, but Penis Envy is what I call it. And Jill said it's true. She fucked the artist."  
  
"An un-grand, firsthand experience. Mmmm," I tasted the soup. "This is fantastic."  
  
"It's sin in bowl--real cream and butter."  
  
I thought of the extra hours I'd need to put in on the NordicTrack. What the hell--I was hooked. Justin smiled brightly at me as I ate another big spoonful. For a change, I was on to him though. Enough about the show at the Whitney Museum.  
  
"Tell me about your secret admirer."  
  
"First you tell me," Justin said. "Tell me why you decided to stay."  
  
"I had to. You caught me behind the dick, remember?"  
  
"Come on, it was too easy. I'd know that Armani Code cologne anywhere."  
  
Mr. Hot Brunette took a seat at the table next to ours with his back to me. Nice view. I turned my attention back to Justin. "Enough of the bait and switch. What's up, Sunshine? Who's the bad man?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"You don't know? Explain."  
  
"Explain what!?" his voice raising. "You explain. I know you were snooping on my computer."  
  
"I was admiring your artwork. You left your email open. I read it," I said, taking a bite of watercress. "So what."  
  
"It wasn't an email. It was a post forwarded from the message board on my website." I noticed he was studying my face like he was sketching me. "I already looked into the IP address, but I didn't get any where with that."  
  
I leaned back in the chair and watched as Justin bit a chunk out of his sandwich and rolled his eyes. I reached over the table and swiped one of his chips. He was such a terrible liar; I didn't believe him for one instant. I took another chip.  
  
"Hey! Those are homemade!"  
   
"Remember, sharing is caring," I smiled, then bit into it.  
  
"I can share--just not deep-fried russet potatoes with sea salt. Besides, you're the one with the sharing issues."  
  
I dropped the remaining chip. "Depends on what I'm sharing."  
  
"Pl-l-e-e-ease! Only if it's your dick!" he said nodding over at the next table.  
  
"Don't talk with your mouth full." I smiled lasciviously at him. He blushed. God, I loved it when he blushed. I pushed the bowl over to him. "Here, have some of my soup. It's soooo creamy and smooth."  
  
"It's always about sex with you."  
  
"Exactly, Sunshine." He got all sullen on me. I thought we were through all this, but I guess not. He likes to pout, and he's hot when he does it, but not at a Mom and Pop deli.  
  
Then his blue eyes looked up at me through those fine wisps of blond lashes. "Do you still have them?"  
  
It took me a few moments to get what he meant. The look on his face gave it away: that sad, soulful smile with his brows furrowed and eyes flickering with a hint of regret.  
  
I looked down at my napkin. Something in me couldn't look back up at his eyes and admit it. "Yeah," I said, "they're in the bottom drawer."  
  
\-------------------------  
  
On the walk home, Justin asked me if I intended to play hide and seek or if I just intended to keep hidden and walk away without ever letting him know I was there at his art show. I admitted I'd thought of just leaving. Truth was I changed my mind half way through the interview. Glad I trusted my instincts that something wasn't right in New York. Now that I knew about this threat to Justin, I'm glad I stayed.  
  
"So, you have no idea who your stalker might be?" I asked.  
  
"No...well, maybe...it's just. Maybe it's not a stalker. Maybe it's about something else. I hate making assumptions and throwing accusations around."  
  
"Why the hell not? How the hell else am I supposed to find out who's doing this to you?"  
  
Justin stopped, grabbed my arm and spun me around. "You! You always have to get in the middle of everything, always be in control, but that's not how the world works, Brian. You can't fix everything."  
  
"Don't you think I know that, Sunshine?" I said gently. "Don't you think I understand that I can't fix everything? I wish to God I could."  
  
I watched him blink at me and chew on his lip.  
  
"I think I need to stay a few days."  
  
"You make it sound like I'm in dire danger. I'm not. Just stop it."  
  
"Sun's going down, and it's getting chilly." I touched his elbow and gave it a tender squeeze. I saw his resolve dissolve in his eyes. "What's the matter? You wanted me to come to New York. I'm here."  
  
"I am happy," he said, a secret smile on his lips. 

That little shit thought he'd get me in the end. Maybe I'll let him just this once.


	5. Chapter 5

"Checking your email again, Sunshine?" 

 Justin's head flew up. He was sitting at his thrift store faux-oak desk engrossed in his screen. He'd kicked the wad of paper he'd wedged out from under one leg of the desk to keep it level. He grabbed the sides just before it toppled. 

"Something there you don't want me to see?" I asked.  

"Yes," he said with smile on his face that was too broad to be real even for Justin. He pushed the wad back under the leg with his toe. Justin wasn't good at faking it. He shut his laptop with a snap as I stepped behind him. "I'll show you, just not right now."

I slapped his shoulders with my hands, then left them there. "I see. Why do I need to wait, Sunshine?" I began a slow message, digging my thumbs into the hollows below his collarbones. 

"That's nice, Brian." He moaned his approval despite himself. 

I bent down, and he turned around just enough to get a long, hot, sloppy kiss from me. When he pulled away with a gasp, his crooked smile told me he wanted more. He was on his feet in an instant, pressing into me.

I needed a place to warm my hands, and his ass was hot in my grasp. I kneaded and rubbed, and his hips spasmed. I couldn't help thinking how good it is to be buried balls deep inside him. I slipped one hand back to the front of his jeans and rubbed along the length of his growing cock. 

  
“Fucking perfect,” Justin moaned, rolling his hips.  
  
I moved my other hand to his hip and sucked on the nape of his neck. He bucked into my hand. Resting my forehead against his, I whispered, "Bed."

He broke away from me into a run straight to his bedroom. “Hurry, Brian!”

But I took my time, stripping as I went. The door was wide open, and Sunshine was spread out on his bed. He licked his lips as he pulled out his cock, stroking it slowly with his artist hands.  

I crawled across the bumpy mattress toward him. The sheets were as coarse as sandpaper and the mattress dipped in the center where Sunshine rested. I ran my hands up his thighs to the waist of his jeans to help him tug them over his hips and off. He sighed as I watched him roll his thumb over the head of his cock.  

"I see who's really stalking me," Justin said with a smirk. 

"And he needs lube and a condom." 

"Coming right up!" Justin moved fast, rolling out from under me.  

Inside the drawer of the side table, he retrieved the condom and lube. He tossed the condom at my head with a giggle. I caught right before it hit my nose. Of course.  

Sitting, Justin pulled his knees up, then spread them theatrically. He gave me a wicked grin as he unsnapped the top of the lube. He slathered it on his fingers, making sure I saw exactly where he was putting those oh-so-artistic digits.  

He slowly slipped two fingers inside, and I imagined it was my cock working that tight pucker open. The muscles in his stomach quivered as he began to finger himself. Once inside, his asshole spasmed around his fingers. My dick leaked just watching him.  

He tossed the lube back to me while working his fingers in and out. He stretched and rolled his hips. My Sunshine was so flexible. I bowed down between his legs and gave that beautiful cock of his a few swipes with my tongue. My reward was a glistening pearl of precum smeared across my lips.  

I leaned back and slipped the condom over my cock. Justin loved watching me do it, so I took my time. 

Inching between those beautiful thighs, I hoised one of his legs over my shoulder, then the other. His ass was a true work of art, creamy-white marble globes. He lifted his butt off the bed—his offering to me. His toned shoulders and arms strained as he pushed his ass up higher for me to take. I aimed at my target. Justin groaned in delight at the touch.  
  
“Fuck me. Please.”  

"I plan to." He clenched his muscles as I said it. His body may be that of an angel, but he's really not. The greedy demon scooted his ass down onto to my cock. The head popped inside, and he groaned. I pushed deeper into his velvety, tight hole. I wasn't in deep yet, but the friction was sweet. My hips stuttered, jerky at first, then I smoothed out as my strokes deepened and quickened. I loved the slapping beat of wet skin against wet skin. God, do I got rhythm. 

  
“Yeah, that's it. Harder,” Justin panted. 

Justin's beautiful cock bobbed and slapped against his stomach. To Justin's credit, he practiced keen restraint since his goal was to cum from my cock fucking him alone. Instead of pumping in time, he squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed onto the sheets for dear life. 

I snapped my hips and drove a nice, deep whine from those full lips. I loved sinking my cock deep into him. It wasn't just how he felt, it was how he begged and moaned. The sight of Justin's blond hair sweaty against his forehead, cheeks in shades of pink, and the perfect "o" of his mouth as he gasped was something no artist could capture. I almost came just watching him. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I mentally worked to slow myself down since I wanted this to last longer.

One of his legs had slipped off my shoulder, and Justin took advantage of the opportunity and planted his foot flat against the bed. He used the leverage and thrusted up as I pulled out, slamming in, hitting that sweet spot over and over, meeting me each time.   

He didn't get to see his spunk as it pumped out in four fat gobs across his tummy like a Jackson Pollack work.

His beautiful ass clamped down on me. He trembled and clenched around my red-hot cock. I pushed deep inside Sunshine and came.  

I took my weight off my arms, and let my hands slip down to Sunshine's hips and around his back. I pressed into him, kissing hard and bumping teeth. His heart thudded through me. 

  
“Oh, my God.” Justin laughed. His cock was still happy and half hard between us. 

 I rolled off him as he kissed my neck. 

  
“We need to do that more regularly," Justin said. 

"Just give me three minutes." 

"You wish! But seriously, Brian, you're big but, I think you need to be in the same vicinity for us to fuck." He rolled on his side, propping his head up with his arm. 

"Getting all serious on me?" 

"I still want us, Brian."

"You're the one who walked away." I hated reminding him. 

 Actually, no. _I didn't_. He left. 

"I just wanted to prove myself. I thought you understood that." 

"Yes. Little fish, meet big sea. How's the water?"

"Fine. I love New York. You know that, but I don't always like swimming alone. When I moved here, I didn't mean for you to stay away." 

"Well, right now I'm swimming around with you in your come in an unsanity bed. I'd define that as love, Sunshine."

"Yeah, we are a little sticky. And you did get into this bed. You must love me. Let's take a shower. We can talk about us later." 

"In that communal bathroom? I hope the shower doesn't look like the rest of this place."

Justin grimaced.  

"Are you sure you don't want to stay at a hotel?" I asked.

"Come on Brian. It's clean, it's just not designer sheets and plumbing that you're used to—if there even is such a thing as designer plumbing. Maybe gold faucets. But that's beside the point. It's no worse than some of the places we've fucked. And as for the communal bathroom—'the more the merrier,' isn't that what you always say?" 

"You're doing your best to distract me from what was in that email, and we  _will_   talk about the email," I said. "That and buying you a respectable bed." 

Justin gave a deep groan, flopped on to his back and covered his face with his pillow. "We can talk about the bed. But the email? Only if we have to." 

"We have to," I said, pulling the pillow off his face. "And you have to have a new bed. Tomorrow we're going to buy one. No arguments."

"Fine. I'm tired of having to climb out of it like it's Mt. Everest." 

I got up and he flashed a smile as he attempted to get out of the dip in the bed. It took three tries.  

The shared bathroom was ugly but clean. The wall were painted a drab olive green, and the shower curtains were 60s nightmare of neon pink, orange, and green flowers. Thankfully, I forgot the decor as soon as the water sprayed across my back, and Sunshine kneeled down in front of me. Showering with Sunshine was not about getting clean. It was more about the end product. Anyone could come in since the door didn't lock, but we still took our time. The water heater was big enough that we had enough time to leisurely suck each other off. 

Afterward, I snapped my towel at him as we raced across the hall to his room.  Justin slammed the door with his foot behind us. As we dried off and dressed, Justin glanced over at me, waiting. I didn't bother asking this time. 

I fell back into his moth-eaten couch--just one more sin against good taste. I leaned back. "Tell me who you think is behind the emails."   

He chewed his lip."It's something Emmett said to me..." Justin sat down beside me.  

"Honeycutt?!"  

"When I talked to him last week, it was something he said. Calm down, Brian. I think he was trying to help." 

"Help. How?"

"He joked that maybe you needed some sort of push. Then the emails and the note. I called him two days ago to actually talk to him about them. He hasn't call back. I mean, he _always_   calls back. And the name luverboy? It's something Emmett  _would_ come up with." 

I recalled a conversation I had with Honeycutt too—just a few days before I decided to come to Justin's show. He said Justin wouldn't wait for me forever. I ignored him since I thought he was repeating one of Debbie's recorded lectures to me—the ones titled "You need to go see Justin." Little did I know.

But thinking back, Emmett also asked what it would take to get me to New York, but I ignored him like I usually do because he's Emmett.  

"I've called him three times. He never misses an opportunity to gossip and talk to me. He loves hearing about the celebrities I've met here. But he hasn't called back," Justin said. "That's not like him unless..." 

"He's avoiding you." 

"Emmett's a terrible liar, and he knows it better than anyone," Justin added.

I rubbed my brow. It made sense, and even though I was pissed off at Emmett's possible interference, it's better than the alternative—a crazed fan stalking Sunshine. And that was why I thought Justin might be wrong, and it wasn't Emmett. The Emmett I knew would never let Justin believe someone was stalking him. Unless, of course, Emmett never thought of the emails as threatening. Emmett's goal was to make me jealous. Emmett was just naive enough to think the emails were some sort of romantic gesture on the part of some mysterious secret admirer, not a wacked creeper. 

There was only one way to find out. "I'm calling Emmett," I said, and picked up Sunshine's phone. I dialed and rang, but the machine picked up. I frowned listening to Emmett's silly sing-song recorded message, then at the beep I told him that I'd call Debbie if he didn't call Justin. Now.

I hung up.  

"I bet he calls as soon as he hears it," Justin said as he fell to his knees in from on me and pulled the towel off my hips. 

God, how he sucked cock. And of course, he's polite and didn't want to talk with his mouth full. 

 

\------------------

 

Well, you can say this about Emmett. He has good timing. He called fifteen minutes later, just as Justin was licking his lips. 

Justin stumbled to the phone and answered. He was a lot more diplomatic than I would have been. He kept his back to me the whole while and asked the questions I would have asked. As for the answers, Justin wasn't happy with Emmett's excuses, and Justin told him so. I could hear the "I'm sorry" from Emmett as I sat on the couch. Sunshine put the phone down and turned around. 

"He sent the emails, but..." 

"But?"

 "Not the card. He swears he didn't send it."

"And you believe him."

Justin bit his lip and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "I'm not sure, but yeah, I think I do." 

"But you're not positive. Why?"

"He didn't sound surprised, which means he probably knows who did it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all. After all these years, I'm finally done with this story. Why did it take me so long? Medical problems, one lousy comment, and adding another component to my day job stalled it. Then, after a time, I didn't go back. But I hate leaving anything unfinished. No longer.
> 
> Thanks for reading. This chapter along with the previous three were un-beta'd, so the errors are mine.

Of course Honeycutt knew who sent Sunshine the card.

I would have hopped on a plane, gone home, and personally strangled him. Problem was he'd of probably enjoy it.

Then there was the minor detail that it wasn't Honeycutt who I was really pissed at. He was basically an innocent in all this—at least as far as sending creepy notes. Yes, he was sticking his nose in where it didn't belong, but according to Honeycutt that's what "folks in Hazelhurt, Mississippi do."

He may be a lot of things at first glance: flamboyant, busy-body, the gay stereotype that I've always balked against. But after years of being around Honeycutt, I have to admit that man is kind. Too kind at times. He feeds stray cats on Liberty Street, takes in wayward strangers, and forgives much too easily. 

I don't doubt that he had no clue what the card said. But the person who gave Justin the card? That person knew the chilling effect the message would have on me in particular. Whoever wrote it did it to get me riled. It worked. There's only one person close enough to Honeycutt with the inclination to do this. He's the person I really wanted to strangle. I just needed to confirm who.

One phone call left any shadow of a doubt.

"Debbie?"

"Brian! My caller ID says you're calling from Justin's number," she said, suddenly realizing the significance. "Brian! You're calling from Justin's number! It's about time you pulled your head out of your ass and went to see him. Oh! And you went to his show. What was it like? How was the reception? How is Sunshine? I'm so happy."

"Slow down, Deb. Sunshine is doing fine and the show is going spectacular. I'll fill you in completely when I get home."

"Well, don't come home too soon. Stay and have some fun with our Sunshine."

"I'll do my best to keep him occupied," I said with a wink at Justin. "The reason I'm calling...when was the last time you talked to Ted?" I asked.

"On Sunday just before he went to New York with Blake."

"He's in New York. Right now," I repeated.

"I thought you knew. He'd been talking about that convention at the Javits Center for weeks. I told him about Justin's show, and he mentioned he'd try to stop by to check in on him, but he said it was possible he'd be too busy at the convention to get away," she said. "That and he'd told Mike the trip was also a second honeymoon with Blake."

The fucker was in New York. It sounded to me like Ted did "check in on him" since the letter was hand delivered. How else would that envelope appear at Justin's show? I could see him slinking around, slipping the note in Justin's backpack.

Of course Debbie wouldn't let it drop there.

"What's this about?"

"I'll tell you when I get back," I said.

"Long story? Well, you need to tell me all about it along with how Justin's show went." She hesitated a moment, distracted. "The reviews come out tomorrow, don't they? I'll be sure to pick up all the papers," she said. "I also expect some nice souvenir and not the Statue of Liberty."

I told her I would and then hung up. "I was right," I said. "It's Ted's work."

"You know Ted has always been a softy for Emmett. I'm sure Emmett talked him into it."

"He is easily manipulated by Honeycutt. I don't get it. He doesn't suck his dick anymore."

"Brian! It's not always about that. They're friends. He did it as a favor."

"Some favor. I don't know how their minds work. I don't think I want to."

"I'm sure he only did it because Emm roped him into it." 

I suppose it did give Ted some pleasure that he was helping me "get my head out of my ass" as Debbie put it, but I'm positive that's not what motivated him.

"But you don't think so."

"Ted's always envied me," I said. "What time does the show begin today?"

"Two," Justin said, "But you know that. Stop avoiding. You're saying he did it because, what? He wants me? That's crazy, Brian."

"No, not because he wants you. He's always wanted to _be_ me. The way I dance, the way I dress, the men I fuck. Always. That's why it didn't occur to me at first that it was him. Why would he ever want to work to help me even if Emmett asked?"

"He is your friend, Brian. Yeah, the whole thing was over the top, and I agree he's a bit envious of you. But I'm not saying I agree with you completely," Justin said, crossing his arms and leaning against his bookcase as I shook my head."Alright, Brian. Tell me. Why would he?"

"The answer is, he's convinced himself that he's helping you. But he's no idiot. He knew the effect the note would have on me."

"That's what I don't get. It creeped me out a lot."

What I didn't say was that it would have worked, and maybe that was part of Schmidt's plan, because he knew there was no way I would leave Justin alone in New York with some obsessed fan coming after him. Schmidt would go that far. Honeycutt? No. In fact, I'm sure when he finds out, he's going to be angry.

"Well, it turned out you came without the note prompting you." Suddenly, Justin frowned and gave me a puzzled stare. "Wait...you didn't know about the emails before hand, did you? Did you find out? That's not why you came, was it?"

"Justin...no," I said emphatically. He glared at me. "No." I repeated.

I sighed and stepped up to him and took my hand and lifted his chin. "I didn't know. Sure, I would have come if I did, but that's not why. I came to see your show."

"And..."

"Because I missed you."

We let the subject drop for awhile. Justin ate breakfast—Captain Crunch out of the box—while I watched the morning news, then Justin took a shower. Alone.

I took a seat on the ugly, lumpy couch and took the opportunity of the privacy to call Debbie back. She had more questions and so did I. We traded information. I told her about the notes and the emails. She wasn't pleased. I got to hear her scream into the phone for a good three minutes. As for finding out where Schmidt was staying, she didn't know, but Debbie told me she get right back to me exactly where he was staying. She'd get to the bottom of it all, which means I expected her to talk to Honeycutt. It wasn't more than five minutes before she rang. She'd gotten the hotel name from Mikey instead. She said she was going to have a long, personal one-on-one talk with Emmett. I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

The Yotel New York was where Schmidt was staying. Yes, Yotel was the name of the "plush" establishment. Of course, he'd stay at a place with that name. When I was thinking of booking my own room in here in New York, I'd checked the hotels nearby, and only gave that one a glance: four stars, round king-sized beds, loads of mirrors on the ceilings and walls (probably pink champagne on ice), and 24 hour gay porn on demand.

I really didn't want to envision any part of what happened during their "second honeymoon" on that round bed.

Justin came back with a blue towel slung around his hips, hair dripping wet—that's the vision I wanted—always want, in fact.

I still had my hand on the phone when he walked in.

"Brian, what were you doing?"

I don't know why he'd bother to ask. He knew exactly who I'd called while he was cleaning up, and knew what I was about to do.

"I'm calling the hotel where Schmidt's staying."

"No, you don't," he said, taking the phone out of my hand and setting it back on the receiver.

"You're right. I think this needs a personal touch. I'll just show up and surprise him. With my fist."

"That's exactly why you're not going until tomorrow morning. Wait a day and calm down." He sat on my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck. The spring in his ratty couch dug into my ass. "Besides, I thought we were going shopping before the show. Mattress, remember?"

I raised my eye brow. I agreed. A new mattress was a must.

While I'd rather buy some new suits—I'd save that for another trip—we dressed and went out. Justin insisted that we didn't have to change before going to his show.His dark grey cashmere v-neck sweater with black dress trousers were perfectly professional yet casual. I opted for a similar effect with a simple blue bespoke Basttistoni haute couture shirt and grey pants.

We went out and bought a new plush mattress, and what Justin called a "reasonable" bed. I insisted on a king-sized, and we'd measured his bedroom before hand to make sure he'd have enough room in that pillbox. I didn't have to twist his arm too much to let me purchase a top-of-the-line mattress or extra pillows and bedding.

_________________

Sunshine understood promotion. I'd browsed the marketing materials before I came, and Justin's obvious hand in creating some of them was evident. He still had that talented commercial eye for design. He'd had a successful showing the opening night and for an afternoon viewing, the gallery remained full with lots of interest and discussion among those who came. He'd sold more than a few pieces. There was one in particular I told him I wanted, "The Bombing of Babylon," and the offers he'd gotten on it made me think I should let him sell it, but he insisted he'd wanted it too.

The biggest surprise was having Justin's mom show. Jennifer was actually happy to see me, and gave me a big kiss on the lips. It wasn't bad, actually. Justin wanted her to come to dinner with us, but she couldn't. She said she had plans, then winked at me. I wondered what that meant.

Really, we had to go back to Justin's for dinner anyway. We'd timed the delivery of the new bed, so that it would arrive late afternoon, which left us time to watch it get set up and catch a bite to eat before going back to the evening run of the show. We'd have all later that night to determine the optimal comfort level the mattress could provide.

The evening run was even busier with more artist types and reviewers than buyers. The way Justin handled the press impressed me. He had the polish and sophistication of someone twice his age yet his genuine passion expressed an authentic connection to his work that drew people to him.

I wandered around a lot, but stayed close enough to observe. Justin always pulled me back to his side.

Despite how entertaining it was to study Justin in his element, I was actually glad to get back to his dump of an apartment.We were quick to get to the bedroom. Sunshine smiled against my lips as I pushed him down on the bed for the first time.

"It's not too firm for you, is it?" I asked.

"It's never firm enough for me."

"It's good to know that you and I are at the same comfort level."

"It has perfect give when you lay on top of me. I think it needs more testing," he said and I returned it. We bounced on the mattress, laughing, as we traded thrusts.

  
He went that to rolling his hips as he lifted his right hand, took ahold of my biceps and pushed me back. With a wicked grin he undid the buttons on my jeans.  
  
“Beautiful,” he said, pulling my cock out, shifting down, and giving it a lick.  
  
He'd already undone his own jeans and kicked them off. I'd helped him pull his paint splattered t-shirt over his head. I loved his skin. Milky, soft, and sweet.

"I much prefer my body conforming to the mattress instead of the other way around," he said.

"You'll never have to sleep inside a crater again." I pulled him back up to my mouth and nipped his lip.

"I think I'm in love with memory foam," he said with a kiss.

  
The new white sheets became the backdrop to his ideal form. I slid my jeans the rest of the way down and stripped off my shirt.As I knelt down on the edge of the mattress between his legs, his unwavering eyes took me in.

Justin has never turned away from my intense riveted stare during sex. A lot of men can't meet my eyes. Not Justin. Ne never looked away and fixed my steady gaze to his--those blue eyes wide and filled with wonder.

  
I kissed him hard on the lips, then broke away. He'd been snacking. I hesitated before I bowed down again to taste the lemon bars he loves. I think Debbie sends them to him in bulk. I licked them clean. It's always good to savor the taste.

  
Sunshine rolled on to his stomach, then turned his head slightly, his blonde hair brushing the nape of his neck. I reached down and brushed the hair away from the spot with my thumb. Justin shivered, despite the oppressive heat in the room. Justin said it's always either frigid or a sauna in this room with no in between. He rolled on his belly, and I straddled his calves.

I moved my hands slowly down his lean sides, over his ribs and around, pressing into his hipbones.

  
His legs were folded into his chest, and his pert ass swayed, inviting me. I rubbed my cock down his crack just to listen to him begging for it. He eased down onto his elbows, pushing his ass up higher in the air and his bangs fell into his eyes. He rocked back, trying for more.

"Not yet, Sunshine."  
  
I slipped away and sat back to admire the view. I pushed my thumbs down the peaks of his spine and down to the dip of his tail-bone.  
  
As I reached his pucker, Sunshine took a deep breath and grabbed the Egyptian sheets. Yeah, he pushed back. He does that. And I pushed back a bit against him in return, but not enough to push inside. I licked my thumb first and used my spit to tease and toy with his hole. I pushed my thumb against his opening and watched my thumb slip completely inside. Justin rolled his hips and moaned as it disappeared. I twisted my thumb inside, playing with him.  
  
Next I did what Justin loved most, I took my tongue and lapped carefully down his crease and wetly around my thumb.He always comes apart when I rim him. He moaned and thrashed against the new bedding.  
  
Then I pulled my thumb out, stiffened the tip of my tongue, and pushed it inside Sunshine's body. I probed and dodged my tongue, licking loudly and making as many obscene sounds as possible.

"Brian, please," he moaned, and he spread his knees farther apart.

  
I pulled my tongue out his ass, put on the condom and slicked up my cock with lube.

I gripped the base with my fist and worked just the head inside. It was beautiful.  
  
I buried myself completely inside his heat. Justin grabbed his new plush pillow that was behind his head and squeezed the life out of it. He gasped and pushed back with a fever. I began to fuck him hard, searching and finding what he needed. What I needed.

There's nothing as perfect in this world as being buried inside Justin Taylor except being in love with him. Moments like this, the two perfections merge. It's overpowering.  
  
There's a fine balance between the two. I was there, and I desired to stay there teetering on the edge, but there's no way that's possible no matter how much I wish for it. He came, then I did.

It's at that moment I realized that I can't do this. I can't leave him. I knew it would be work. Anything worth a damn does take work. But I also knew I didn't want to do this without him anymore.

"I'm hungry. Let's order pizza," he said.

"Justin Bottomless-pit Taylor."

"We can watch some old movies in bed. Then we can make more memories on the new memory foam."

He stood up, and he disappeared into the living room to order the pizza. I rubbed my temples, then stood and put on my robe. I didn't want to flash the delivery boy and give him an inferiority complex.

"I've been thinking, Sunshine." I sat down next to him where he was parked on the couch waiting. "Kennetick needs a new headquarters. I need to stretch myself."

Justin's eyes grew wide. He spun around and flung himself at me. As he knocked me flat on the couch, a spring nearly pierced my kidney, but I didn't mind since I was being warmed by a whole lot of happy Sunshine.

"But the deal is the whole suffering artist thing has to go—this apartment, this ratty couch," I said, struggling not so hard to get him off me. "We need to look around for a new place with lots of light and room for an up and coming artist."

"You haven't even seen my reviews yet."

"I don't need to see them," I said, kissing his temple. "I saw the checks people were writing for your work today. I think you'll more than be able to help pay for something. A place with view that's not a brick wall and bathroom we don't share with half of Manhattan."

"But we're taking the new bed and mattress," Sunshine said with a wink.

"Of course."

Fucking Honeycutt and Schmidt. I hate owing those idiots anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks. I hope someday we get a reboot that's actually a reboot of this series. Maybe never, but we can always hope.


End file.
